


Acts of Service

by seaquestions



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-War, and a hand massage, something about love languages...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaquestions/pseuds/seaquestions
Summary: First Aid laughs, and said mask slides open to reveal a grin and, of course, tired lines under the visor.“I guess we've both gotten a little older, have we?” he says, cupping Rodimus' face in his hands and leaning in for a kiss.
Relationships: First Aid/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47





	Acts of Service

The clinic is quiet, save for sounds of medical equipment being picked up, wiped clean and set back down. The task is mindless, and Rodimus takes to it well. Both the repetitive chore and the mindlessness, that is.

Two steps away from him is First Aid, hunched over a console and sitting in a chair just a touch too big for him. He never got it adjusted, not even when this peace came about. Too busy, he says. Doesn't have the time.

Maybe it sounds like an excuse, what with the peacetime, but Rodimus gets it. Sure, there haven't been no battles or nothin' but that just means there's nothing keeping you away from paperwork. With the influx of ex-Decepticons seeking asylum and the new colony mechs moving into Autobot City—First Aid's been doing nothing but checkups and writing up medical files. Rodimus has been doing pretty similar stuff too, well, when he can sit down and focus on it. Which has been more often than it used to be! Can't be leaving it all to Ultra Magnus after all. That mech's swamped with work already.

And Rodimus likes to think that he's an okay leader. He's sort of over the whole “I'm no good at this cause I'm no Optimus” dealio, and maybe he still thinks it but he doesn't act it anymore. After that, he tried a “fake it 'til you make it” thing, but the constant _bombasticity_ and _cockiness_ wore out pretty quick. It was kinda him yeah, but at some point he started feeling like a caricature of himself and it all just felt like garbage. So now he's just him. Whatever he is.

[Prime.] Ultra Magnus comms him.

Rodimus only stops his task for a second to accept the message, then continues.

[Hey Mags,] he replies, [What's up?]

[Just informing you that this afternoon's meeting will be delayed to tomorrow,] Magnus says, in a tired voice.

[Huh. Can I ask why?] Rodimus asks, [You don't sound too good, my guy, what happened?]

Ultra Magnus sighs. [Nothing major, thankfully. The Velocitronian ambassadors simply ran into a small meteor storm on their way over to the space bridge.] He pauses, then adds, [The delay has nothing to do with my current condition. But thank you for your concern.]

Knowing Ultra Magnus, the complete lack of info probably means it's a personal problem, and if it's a personal problem, then _that_ means Rodimus won't be getting any context for it anytime soon.

[Alrighty, big guy. Thanks for letting me know. Take care of yourself, aight?] As much as he wants to hear potential gossip, Rodimus doesn't pry. Whatever it is, he trusts that Ultra Magnus can either sort it out on his own or go looking for help. Well, kinda. Magnus still has a little trouble with the “go looking for help” part. But to be fair, so does he.

[Will do. Thank you, Prime. Ultra Magnus out.]

[Kay! Bye Mags.] And the commline clicks closed.

He's glad that Ultra Magnus gave up on getting him to speak formally way long ago.

Rodimus gets another minute of mindless working until his processor finally, uh, processes. Then he sets down whatever scalpel or laser pen tool-thingy on the tray and turns towards First Aid.

“Hey,” he blurts out, “I have this afternoon off.”

The medic looks up from his console, where he'd been typing away for hours now, and looks at Rodimus.

“You do? Thought you had a meeting.”

Rodimus raised his hands in finger-guns towards First Aid. “Just got moved to tomorrow, baby.”

The medic smiles underneath the mask—it's not the most obvious, but Rodimus sees the tells now—and slowly rises up from his seat with a creak of his joints.

First Aid stretches as he steps into Rodimus' bubble of personal space, his arms lifting up and his back arching, cables pulling themselves taut and then relaxing. He sighs as the tension falls.

Rodimus snickers, “You got up from that seat like an old mech.”

The medic scoffs. “You talk as if your own joints don't need oiling. At least I haven't gotten any lines under my eyes like you do now.” He pokes at Rodimus' cheek playfully, sitting down on a clear part of the workbench.

“Ha! We both know that you do. You just hide it under your cute little mask.”

First Aid laughs, and said mask slides open to reveal a grin and, of course, tired lines under the visor.

“I guess we've both gotten a little older, have we?” he says, cupping Rodimus' face in his hands and leaning in for a kiss.

Rodimus rises up and meets him in the middle, smiling into it. His hand reaches out to rest against the curve of First Aid's hip, and it's smooth as always. First Aid breaks the kiss to nip at his bottom lip and Rodimus feels himself melt.

“Soooo, you, uh, busy tonight?” he asks.

The medic pulls away, still smiling that pretty smile.

“Well, I _was_ going to just keep doing work in my office while Hoist takes over the shift, but I heard a certain someone just had his schedule freed up, so…”

Rodimus gasps, exaggeratedly. “Oh my gosh! Does this mean you'll go out with me?!”

“I've _been_ going out with you, you silly billy.”

Rodimus grins, and leans up to kiss First Aid once more. And then another time. And then a few more times.

He'd keep going really, but at some point First Aid slides his mask back on and backs away, saying, “No more kisses until later! I still have to finish some work today, and you still have to clean this up.”

“Okay, okay. Just one thing though,” Rodimus says.

“Yeah?”

With a flourish, Rodimus takes out a small bottle of oil and a cloth from his subspace, and takes one of First Aid's hands in his.

“Let me fix your hands up a bit first. And _then_ you go back to work,” he says, looking up at First Aid with a smirk.

The medic seems taken aback. “When did you—”

“C'mooon, please?”

First Aid ex-vents. “…Oh, alright. Just this once!”

With a little cheer, Rodimus starts working. First Aid's hands aren't rough, but the joints get stiff pretty often, so those areas Rodimus pays most attention to. His hands aren't sensitive either, not like rumours about medic hands lead you to think. Maybe it's because First Aid's a pre-programmed cold-con medic, not a forged one, but it doesn't matter to Rodimus. He'll treat these hands with just as much care.

At some point, First Aid's EM field starts feeling a bit off. Rodimus can't quite tell what’s up… He's always had trouble getting the right emotional readings from fields and it’s landed him in trouble a couple of times. Not with First Aid, though. Never with him.

“Hey,” he asks softly, “You alright? This isn't bothering you, right?”

First Aid jolts, like he didn't realise Rodimus could feel him.

“Huh? No, I'm fine, I'm okay.”

“Mmmnn, you don't _feel_ fine though. Maybe you should rest up early? I can call Hoist,” Rodimus offers.

“Oh,” First Aid breathes out, like it hurts him to say, “Oh, Rodimus, you don't have to. You're too good to me already, I mean, you didn't have to do any of _this_ , you don't—”

Rodimus stops his ministrations to simply hold First Aid's hand in his.

“What is it?”

First Aid is quiet for a moment, his mask trembling in a way that signals to Rodimus that he’s biting his lip under it, “…I just don't feel like I'm doing enough.”

Now _that_ takes Rodimus off-guard.

“What do you mean?” he asks, bewildered, “You do, like, so much all the time. This place would be nothing without you, First Aid, I mean, being Chief Medical Officer aside, you're always helping everyone out.”

“Well, so do you!” First Aid says, “Except you _also_ stop to do all these things for me, like—like helping me clean medbay equipment and bringing the supplies from the hangar to here, and I—don't! I don't.”

Rodimus blinks. “That's why you feel bad? I mean… It's not like I care about it. You're busy, I get it. And even if you weren't, it wouldn't matter to me.”

First Aid frowns—the downward tilt of his visor, the way his neck cables tense up—and brings his free hand up to his face, as if putting on an additional mask, “It matters to me. You get the short end of the stick so often, I…” and he takes his hand off, facing Rodimus completely, “I want to be fair to you.”

It's a statement that Rodimus has never heard from anyone before, and it—it _does_ something to him. He doesn’t know what.

He sits there, staring into First Aid's visor and blurts out the only coherent thing in his processor.

“I love you.”

Before First Aid can fully react, he continues, “I like to do this stuff 'cause I love spending time with you. If you wanna, I dunno, come visit me in my office and help me do my paperwork, I definitely wouldn't mind, but, it wouldn't be because you're getting _work_ done for me, it would just be because I get to see you and talk to you and all that. And, to be honest, fetching supplies and doing inventory is… Well, it’s genuinely fulfilling for me! I love that you let me do this for you 'cause it makes me feel like, for an hour or so, I'm _not_ the Prime, I'm just—”

“Rodimus.”

“Yeah?”

First Aid's mask slides open again to reveal a shaky smile, as the medic's hands find their way to the sides of Rodimus' face once more. 

“…Maybe you _should_ call Hoist.”

**Author's Note:**

> "i want to be fair to you" is a direct reference to tiamatschild's [in a common rhythm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4625658), please read it. that line obliterates me every time.
> 
> anyway thank you for reading also i love you :3


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